Shades of Dawn
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Not mine. CSI is CBS's and this is merely written for fun and no profit.

Rating: R

Author's Note: This is set sometime in a not-too-far-off, undetermined future. Some references to at least the first five seasons will occur.

Prologue

II

Gil Grissom nearly died on a Tuesday morning.

It had been a long Monday night, just as it had been a long Sunday night and a long Friday before that. He was getting used to the long nights, perhaps too used to them. Perhaps too used to the bubble that was his life and the dangers within to consider the dangers outside.

He never even saw the car. He remembered only vaguely the heat of his own blood against his skin before falling to the earth almost as rain. Strange that it should be so warm and he should feel so cold, even with the first rays of the sun sliding across his eyelids and into his eyes. It also strangely occurred to him that he never even saw the shades of dawn any more, not sleeping through it, but working through it.

Then there was darkness and stillness and forgetting. Sometimes, he was vaguely aware of voices just at the edge of consciousness, sometimes speaking his name. Anchors beckoning him to shore, but he felt comfortable adrift in the sea of blankness. Quiet there, as the silence he sometimes even envied his mother for. The world roared and noise was pain.

Pain.

"Don't you dare leave me like this, you bastard," pain said, pain in Catherine's voice.

He stayed a while then, even opening his eyes to her, wishing her hair was another colour and her voice of another tilt. What had her name been again? She had been...

Blankness and then her name. Sara. She had been Sara. He remembered the name and the feeling that went with it, but her face felt lost in the roar that had claimed most of his mind and he drifted away from. Not quite himself, but the awareness of self awaiting behind the wall pain had erected. He would have to suffer to be Grissom again and for now, he wanted to be painless.

Time drifted too and the skin against his darkened, becoming Warrick's. Warrick, and Catherine asleep in a corner, lines of fear on her face even in the grip of dreams.

"You're going to live," Warrick promised, ordered, demanded. Grissom found himself nodding, even as he felt a desire to let go and be stillness where no pain could ever touch. Desires could be overcome. Somewhere within himself, he knew he was very good at that.

"Yes."

The voice didn't sound like his, but it had to be, for it wasn't Warrick's. And it did hold all the pain he felt crawling up and into him, like ants coming to their lair. The blankness invited, but he resisted it, feeling a desire to see one particular image before it was all dark again and the sense of self didn't matter.

"Want... to see... Sara."

"What?"

"Sara," he insisted, feeling the pain pulsate in his body with his heart beat, pumping more and more anxiety into him. "Need to…"

"Grissom…" Warrick sounded slightly perturbed. "Sara left three years ago."

Memories then. Sara's hand, never quite firm in his grasp, sliding loose. Her back as she had walked, and all the words he could never say battering against it. And ever since, always working long nights. Always, until now.

She had been Sara.

Gil Grissom nearly died on a Tuesday morning, three years after his life had walked away from him, and it was a start.



Chapter One

Another dawn and Sara Sidle was already awake, as she always was. She wasn't sure just when she had started taking a daily run just as the sun would rise and claim the horizon for fire, for now it felt as if it had always been so. Or perhaps she willed it to have always been so, creating an abyss between what was and what had been. She hadn't forgotten. She merely chose not to remember.

Another dawn, and it was getting colder. Autumn was in the air and in the sea, growing restless by the turn of seasons. She watched it it battering against the shores, a caress of water that was never quite gentle, sometimes even violent in its passion. Wave after wave after wave, carving their slow mark into rock and sand and land. Sometimes, she wondered if the sea would claim all, take and take until there was nothing left. But then, the sea also gave - rain to bring life, currents taking warmth where cold would otherwise reign and sometimes even land back.

No life without the sea, then, for all it might also hurt.

The sun was a faint heat in her back as she returned to her home, the last hill up always leaving her breathless and awake. Lights were starting to come on among her neighbours, awakening to another day in greater Boston. Not for the first time, she wondered

For a moment, she paused at her doorstep, watching the sun glimmer off a distant skyscraper, breaking the light and showing all the colours the sun hid within. Perhaps this was going to be a beautiful late-summer day.

Perhaps. She had long ago learned that the little hopes were much easier to bear when they came to nothing, and possible to live on when they did not.

Perhaps it was going to be a beautiful day and no one would get murdered and there would be no blood for her to feel.

The kitchen was dark as she had left it, the fridge humming its lonely tune and one red light blinking insistently on her answering machine. Work only called on her cell, and she found herself expecting James's voice as she pressed play.

"Sara, it's Warrick. Please call me. Something's come up."

She stood utterly still for a moment, hand still on the lightswitch. Warrick. Warrick, who she had not spoken with since calling to half-heartedly congratulate him on his marriage to Catherine - was it a year ago already? A year and a half? She chose not to remember. Easier not to. Easier to make the cut clean and clear, not remembering...

For a breathless moment, his fingers across her cheek, his gaze embracing her. For a moment of hope, his lips against her skin and no wall between them. For a moment, Grissom and Sara and nothing else.

"This is a start," he whispered, voice filling her. "This is a start for us."

For a moment, she believed him.

She shook the memory away, picking up the phone without hesitation. Warrick could be calling about a million things. Greg might have been promoted. Nick could finally have married. Ecklie could finally have decided to run for President. A million reasons.

He answered on the third ring, voice tired and so familiar she could almost feel the Las Vegas sun, as if she was there with him. "Brown."

"Sidle."

"Sara! I wasn't sure you still had the same number."

"I'm still in Boston. Still in Vegas?"

"Of course. You know me. Listen..." He hesitated, and already she could feel chill creep up her spine. He wouldn't hesitate if it wasn't about Grissom. "There was an accident. Grissom got hit by a car. He's going to live, but it was a close call."

"That's good," she muttered, her hands like claws as she clutched the phone. He couldn't die. He could never die, even if she didn't want to be reminded of his life. He couldn't.

"He've been asking for you."

Breath.

"Sara?"

"It's been three years since..."

"I know. I know you don't owe him anything. I know," Warrick repeated, sounding apologetic. "I just thought you should know anyway."

"Yeah. Thanks. I have to get to work. I'll... I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure."

And with a click, the past was gone again and she stood in her dark kitchen, the sunlight only starting to crawl in and across the floor. She stared at it, trying not to think, not to feel, just be still. There were memories everywhere, as if the abyss had been bridged and they had found their way across. She had never forgotten. And she had tried so very, very hard to never forgive.

"Shit," she whispered and leaned her head against the counter, feeling the cool of it against her forehead. So tempting even now to forgive it all and rush to his side and only because he had spoken her name. But no one had ever said her name quite like him, even the memory of it alluring. Still she had walked away. She had. She should call Warrick back and tell him never to call about Grissom again, that Grissom could go to hell as far as she was concerned, but that would be a lie.

She lifted her head, walked out of the kitchen, showered and was out of the house in ten minutes, her body so used to the morning's routine she didn't really need to think about what to do.

It would have been easier if there hadn't truly been anything between them but unfulfilled pauses and longing gazes. It would have been easier if she didn't remember the feel of his beard scratching against her thigh, the feel of his palm under her fingers, the rise and fall of his chest as she rested in him. She couldn't forget what had been burned into memory.

The air was warmer as she stepped out again, the sun having begun its work of the day. The car gleamed brightly in the light, still looking almost like new from the wax James had given it. It was a good life she had started here. A good job, a good home, even good friends. Or perhaps comfortable was a better word. A comfortable life.

And now...

The car door was hot against her back, warmed by sun and summer. In contrast, his body was cooler, almost shade as she leaned against him.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, his breath warm on her neck. She could almost smell Lake Mead stretch out behind them, the waves of light breaking against it.

"We're watching you in sunlight."

"Grissom..."

He kissed her, the taste of her still on his lips from the last kiss, reminding her that to him, she was ever beautiful, in sunlight and darkness and all the shades of dawn.

"I am," he whispered and she believed him.

Another day, and Sara wasn't even sure she had been living the past three years.



Chapter Two

In the whiteness of his hospital room, he watched the sun claw its way across the floor, ever towards him and he wondered what would come when the sun did.

Sunlight was only sunlight, the scientist in Grissom knew, lecturing him about wavelengths and spectrum and the processes of the sun. And yet dawn seemed to him a strange bringer of hope in its slow reveal of starlight, still warm after its passage through the cold space. Perhaps it was the sense of ever beginning to it, that whatever sunset and night ended, the morning could bring anew.

He was waiting for Sara.

It was foolish, stupid, against all reason, and yet he did. Her words had been the end, but dawn still beckoned its hope. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe the words could come undone in time and she would stand there, looking at him with that look he'd come to understand was only meant for him.

Instead, it was Warrick, Catherine and Greg that had come, each speaking bright words about how he would improve and live and how the lab needed him before leaving again.

He began to understand very well why Sara had resented those words. They seemed to define him by what he did, not who he was. The scientist didn’t much care, but the scientist saw death as a fact and not up close and personal as a metal monster of a car, breaking bones and tearing flesh as it went. Death was a fact, but suddenly, it had also become something almost like fear.

He hadn’t wanted to die. He didn’t want to die. But he wasn’t sure what life was any more, what life had been. Merely time passed, or something more?

Time passed was simple to find, ever preserved in his memories. Childhood, teenage years, education, adulthood, work, work, and then, a faint smile and dark hair in the wind and a fateful desire spoken...

“I want to kiss you.”

Her eyes darkened and she paused, the wind whipping her hair into her face and shielding her eyes from him. “Why now?”

“I've been waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to be whole. For me to be whole.”

“There is no whole, Grissom. There's just the pieces you do your best to fit together every morning you wake.” She shook her head slightly, as if the thought was painful. ”Close your eyes.”

”Sara…”

”Close your eyes.”

The darkness was not complete, a hint of light creeping past his lashes as he obeyed and waited. He could feel her move and see the dark blue of her shirt as she came in front of him.

”Now kiss me,” she said and he could feel her lips tantalizing close, her breath kissing his.

”Why with my eyes closed?”

”Then it’ll just me and you, not Sara and Grissom and long years of back and forth. The first kiss should be a start.”

”No,” he said, opening his eyes to her gaze. “I could close my eyes forever and it would always still be you I'd see. We’ll make the start with eyes wide open.”

Eyes never leaving her, he dared a caress, feeling the skin of her cheek under his fingers and then under his lips. Soft and weathered and with lines life had chiselled into her, beautiful because it was hers.

"This is a start," he whispered, willing it to be a promise, willing it to be a prophecy. "This is a start for us."

Life in a memory. All life was in memories, a shuffling jigsaw as the present ever made future into past. His start had become an end. And his life nearly had become death. Another change. It was almost as if he wasn't quite Grissom any more, or at least the Grissom he had thought he was. Perhaps he had died, or a part of him had.

It remained to see what had survived.

His bones ached and he closed his eyes to the pain, feeling soft hands on his forehead a moment later. Another nurse with another string of well-meaning words designed to make him improve. He was already tired of them, tired of healing, tired of lingering away from death but not quite in life yet.

"A Miss Sidle called, I told her you were resting," the voice went on, the words suddenly becoming something of sense in his mind. Sidle. Sara.

"Sara?" he muttered, trying to focus and finding the pain a wall in the way.

"Yes, Sara Sidle. She said she'd call later."

For a moment, he almost wished she hadn't. Hope strengthened would almost be impossible to kill and would live in him, as him until bones were ashes and hope returned to the dawn. Maybe she still thought of him. Maybe she could forgive him at last. Maybe he could forgive himself. Maybe he could forgive her. Maybe...

"If she calls again, I'm not resting. Even if I'm sleeping," he ordered the nurse, who merely smiled faintly, as if merely indulging another whim of a patient.

"Yes, Dr. Grissom. You should rest now."

He heard her leave a moment later, painkiller delivered to dull his senses and strengthen the wall. No pain for a while, at least not in body. Nothing to kill his memories with. Nothing to kill words already spoken.

“No.”

“Sara...”

“No. You can't expect me to still love you after this. You can't.”

“I don't.”

No expectations. Only hope, faint and yet strong at the same time, filling him as sleep did, edging away pain and memories and awareness.

Whatever had survived, it had that.



Chapter Three

Much love and gratitude to Ghibli for beta duties. *bows*

II

Blood was ever blood and death still smelled the same and yet, Sara almost felt as if it all took another shade in Boston. Perhaps it was her perception that had changed or perhaps it was the air, clad in the salt of the sea - the only smell that was ever constant. The dead became ashes, houses rose and fell, car spewed their gases and rusted. The sea was ever there.

She had started to think she'd be ever there, too, as "ever" as humans could manage. And now the past yanked and allured and beckoned.

Grissom.

She stared at the phone again, debating even as she knew the choice had been made. Even if Grissom had been unavailable, she had called. She would call again. And he would be back in her life, almost like a ghost that could grow substantial if only she let him.

If she let him.... If she went back, kissed him, forgot betrayal, forgot hurt, lost herself in the world of justice and puzzles and blood and lived, one last time...

Silence in the night, shadows in her mind. She had to leave in the morning, had to before she'd be tempted to forgive him and lost herself in the process. But first, she wanted one last goodbye, one last memory.

"Sara," he said in surprise as he opened the door. "I thought..."

"Hush. Tomorrow," she lied, a lie that felt almost worse than all of his, for this lie would give him hope.

He nodded, and the hope in his eyes was a dawn even in the dark of night and she almost wanted to be warm in it forever.

Almost.

Almost a daydream, but her pride rebelled. It could not be like that. It would not be like that. But she could still fantasize, could still feel just a little bit more alive for considering it. No harm in that, as long as she knew reality.

She dialled before she could overthink it, overfear it, overwant it. The nurse who answered sounded the same, or perhaps it was merely the ring of hospital in the voice. This time, Grissom was awake and she could not help but feel a moment of uncomplicated joy. She would hear his voice again.

"Sara?"

"Hey, Grissom," she replied, listening to him draw breaths. "I heard you gave everyone quite a scare."

His chuckle sounded pained. "Not as much as the car gave me."

"Yeah..."

"I'm glad you called," he hurried out, almost sounding like a rehearsed line. "I know... I mean, it's been a while."

"Yes," she agreed. "They think you're gonna be all right, Warrick said."

"In body," he replied. "I miss you, Sara."

She closed her eyes and breathed, breathed, breathed. It was easy to hold a grudge against a shadow and a memory she could manipulate. It was hard against a living, breathing entomologist she had loved, might still love.

"I... I miss all you guys," she managed, a safe truth of sorts. "Even Catherine."

"Even me."

"Yes."

The silence didn't feel wholly uncomfortable, almost like an offer of rest in running a marathon. Though perhaps the image of Grissom working out was not the best to recall at this moment.

"I'm glad you're all right," she said, trying not to remember anything at all. If she didn't remember, maybe she wouldn't want to hang up on him or blurt out something she couldn't take back later. "I should probably let you rest."

"I think I've rested myself to within an inch of boring myself mindless," he said softly. "I'm almost hoping for a gruesome murder to happen."

"With undetermined time of death and lots of creepy crawlies?"

"Bliss."

They both laughed, and for a moment it was almost like the years were drawn away, like curtains before a window, letting her see. Pain and hurt and his voice, whispering her to sleep.

"Would you visit if I asked?" he asked suddenly, shattering the glass and leaving the window open.

"No." She refused herself to think over it, refused herself to be tempted. She had left him, but he had left her first and the balance was now even. If she came just because he asked, the power would be all his and trust would not be restored. She might still love him. She wasn't sure she still trusted him.

Power and trust mattered. Her mother had taught her that.

He said nothing and the silence was alluring, desiring, hurting. It was almost as if all that was unspoken had been spoken still, but not in words.

Forgive me said his silence.

No said hers. But I wish I could.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, voice tired and uneven, death's echo in it still.

"Rest now," she replied. "I'll call when you feel better."

"Thank you," he said and then he was gone, leaving only the ghost in her memories. So much for not remembering. Three years on and all the walls she had erected seemed to shatter like glass.

Grissom's breath, like a lullaby for her tired self, rocking her near sleep. Grissom's heartbeat, reverberating in his skin, in her skin, in her heart, a symbiosis of heartbeats. Grissom's hands, warm against her back, palm and lines of life against the weathered skin of hers. Grissom's eyes, a caress of gaze, anchoring her before drifting away to sleep.

"I love you," she whispered then, and only then, daring not the words in daylight and his gaze.

Grissom's lips, curving to a faint smile, already promising tomorrow's morning kiss.

"Good."

She put down the phone and stared out the window, seeing twilight crawling in across the sea and over Boston. She had built a home here, she had been content, if not happy. And still she suddenly longed for the desert, for the bright lights of nighttime Las Vegas and the lullaby of breaths.

She hadn't forgotten. She had chosen not to remember and now she was beginning to remember just why. Blood was ever blood, but life wasn't ever life. Humans adapted to their surroundings, fitted themselves to new puzzles and adjusted to new people. Her life wasn't as it had been. The lab was another, James was not Grissom, the people she worked with were not Warrick, Greg, Nick or Catherine.

Was it enough to be content?

She wouldn't come if he asked. But maybe, just maybe, she could come unasked.

(TBC)